Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Viktor
The elevator's cold metal doors slammed shut right in front of me, cutting off Hailey's green eyes—wide with pure, terrified panic.
I drove my fist into the stainless-steel panel. Pain shot through my knuckles like something cracked.
"Fuck." I ground it out through my teeth. I hadn't seen this coming. I hadn't meant for Hailey to see any of it.
I didn't even look at my hand. I spun and stormed for the other elevator.
I had to catch her. I had to drag her back before she got out of my world for good. I didn't care if she looked at me like I was a monster. I didn't care if I had to cuff her to my wrist. She wasn't going anywhere.
Then my peripheral caught something on the concrete a few steps away—a black, matte gift box lying still. The silver-gray ribbon had come loose. The box had tipped over, showing a layer of deep-blue tissue paper.
My heart stuttered.
I stepped through the blood smeared across the floor and walked to it, slow. I crouched. My knee sank into the pooled blood, and I didn't even feel it.
Hailey had dropped it.
I peeled back the thin tissue.
Inside sat a pair of pure black leather gloves.
The edges showed clear hand-stitching. The seam along the inside of the thumb even ran a little crooked. I traced the rough, stubborn thread, and my fingertips almost caught the heat of her from last night—her sitting under a lamp, biting her lip, sewing them one careful stitch at a time.
A card lay pinned beneath the gloves.
I picked it up. Her neat handwriting stared back at me.
"Happy birthday, Viktor. I hope these gloves, made with love, stay with you for a long time. Love, Hailey."
Love.
I stared at that word like it was a blade.
I'd killed more men than I could count on two hands. I'd interrogated traitors. I'd snapped fingers with my own grip. I'd ordered executions and watched blood run through my fingers until it might as well have been a river. These hands were rough, callused, and stained with other people's lives.
And Hailey—she'd been sweet enough, stupid enough, to think a pair of gloves could protect hands like mine.
It felt like someone hooked my heart with rusty metal and yanked it straight out of my chest.
I crushed the card in my palm.
Jesus. What the hell had I done? I'd lifted her up into the clouds—and then, right in front of her, I'd dragged her into my personal hell full of bodies and broken parts.
"Pakhan." Dmitri came up beside me, voice low. "Your private line rang three times. Council of Elders. They already heard about the garage hit."
I shut my eyes and drew a long breath. When I opened them again, the calm was back in place.
There was a traitor inside. The attack had been planned. If I charged out now, I wouldn't protect Hailey—I'd just put both of us in the crosshairs.
I stood, pressed the gloves and card to my chest, and slid them into my shirt pocket like they were the only clean thing I owned. Then I swept my gaze over the Cleaners working nearby.
"Make the body disappear. Don't leave a single chunk behind.
" I started for the armored Maybach. "Dmitri, pull every camera in the surrounding blocks.
Find out which cab Hailey took. Send your most trusted guy to shadow her—keep her safe.
Do not get close. Do not spook her. If she loses a single hair, I want all your heads. "
"Understood."
"Now." I yanked the door open, murder cold in my eyes. "Back to the estate. Let's see what those old bastards think they're playing at."
The car tore through Manhattan's night, straight for the Ivanov family estate on Long Island.
Inside, it stayed dead silent.
I leaned back into the leather, the shape of the gloves against my chest burning like a brand.
I forced my mind off Hailey's terrified face and onto the threat in front of me.
Our family ink. An attack inside my own operation.
This wasn't some random ambush. This was a long game.
When the Maybach rolled through the estate's massive wrought-iron gates, the whole place blazed with light. Two rows of armed guards stood like statues at the main house. The air felt so tight I could've wrung water out of it.
I got out without my coat, still in the white shirt splashed with a few dark-red drops, and strode straight into the main hall.
Cigar smoke curled above a long mahogany table.
Seven elders sat along it. Igor sat deep at the end with an untouched whiskey in front of him. Yuri sat just below him.
Yuri.
My face didn't move, but something inside my chest sank like ice.
Two days ago, I'd sent him to take punishment in the pit because he'd once taken a bullet for me. And now he sat here, whole and comfortable, among the elders like a... nominee.
"Viktor." Igor lifted his eyes. "Sit."
I narrowed mine, let out a short laugh, and walked to the head chair. I pulled it out, sat, crossed my legs, and slapped my Glock—silencer still on—down on the tabletop.
"Looks like I missed one hell of a pajama party." I dragged my gaze over the lot of them, my voice dripping with contempt. "What, Sorokov's lapdogs didn't feed you enough? You decided you want to drink my blood instead?"
Feodor, on my left, slammed his whiskey down. The wrinkles on his face twisted with rage.
"Watch your mouth, Viktor!" He hammered his cane on the floor. "We're sitting here for this family's survival. Look at you. You tore up the alliance marriage with the Sorokov family over some woman who crawled out of God knows what slum. Natalia's father is furious!"
"And?" I lifted a brow. "He's going to ram my building with his shitty cargo ships?"
"You're impossible!" Ivan roared, practically spitting. "Sorokov cut three major smuggling routes on the East Coast. Customs was all over our docks. We're bleeding millions a day. And you—" he jabbed a finger at me— "you got ambushed in your own underground garage like some dog being hunted."
My gaze went hard. The room chilled.
"Funny how fast you old bastards got the news.
If your brains aren't pickled in vodka, you'd know the men who hit me wore our mark.
" I leaned forward, slow, like a black panther about to pounce, my eyes slicing over every face.
"Somebody played double agent right under my nose.
Instead of crying over routes, you should worry about whose head hits the floor tonight. "
A brief, heavy silence settled.
Igor took a slow drag from his cigar. Something poisonous flickered in his cloudy eyes.
"That's exactly what we're here to discuss, Viktor.
" Feodor's voice turned unnaturally calm.
"You've lost control. That woman—Hailey—got into your head.
You broke rules for her, offended allies, and now even your security is full of holes.
A leader who only thinks with his dick doesn't deserve the Pakhan seat. "
Low murmurs of agreement rolled through the room.
I looked at them. Old bones who'd built this empire with my father and grandfather. Every one of them had the same word written in their eyes.
Finished.
"Feodor," I spoke softly. The room snapped quiet. "That shipment cut you swallowed last month—the one you were supposed to turn in—I still haven't settled that tab."
Feodor's face blanched.
"I'd figured it wasn't worth dirtying my hands over pocket money." I undid the top two buttons of my shirt and lounged back, idly rolling the still-warm gun in my hand. "But if you want to talk about 'who isn't loyal to the family'... we can start with you."
A vein jumped at Feodor's temple. He shut up.
"Enough." Igor finally lifted a spotted hand and pressed the room down. "Viktor, we're not here to fight. We're here to remind you—your recent decisions were influenced by that woman. That's dangerous."
"My decisions are influenced by me."
"Yeah?" Igor smiled with that disgusting, patronizing pity. "Then tell us—did you find out who set the island ambush? How many of the company's accounts did you personally review this month? How many nights did you spend in that woman's apartment instead of at the estate?"
I didn't answer.
Because every word landed true.
"We're not targeting you," Igor said slowly, but his eyes stayed sharp as knives. "We just believe the family... might need someone who can give the family his full attention."
The second he finished, Yuri stood.
"Pakhan." Yuri dipped his head, perfect humility, perfectly practiced. "The elders mean the family faces pressure inside and out, and you carry too much alone. I'm willing to take some of the weight. Of course... everything is up to your decision."
Everything is up to my decision.
Pretty words.
I watched his calm face and saw the three bastards on the island wearing our IDs. I saw Grisha's gunshot. I saw how Natalia had been shoved into my company. I heard Yuri at the estate that day, saying—without a shred of guilt—Everything I did was for the family.
So that was it.
All the threads ended in the same hand.
I almost laughed.
I'd thought Yuri was my friend. He'd taken a bullet for me. I'd trusted him like the only man alive—besides Hailey—who could stand at my back.
Turns out the one who wanted to put a knife there... was him.
"You want to share the load." I stared at him, every word deliberate. "Yuri, how much do you want to share?"
Yuri kept his eyes down. "Whatever you ask of me, I'll do."
"Good." I smiled, and it never touched my eyes. "Then share one thing first—go hunt the traitor behind the island job. When you find him, bring me the name."
Yuri's lashes twitched—barely.
"Yes, Pakhan."
I watched him sit back down, and the last bit of warmth I'd kept for brotherhood went out for good.
The traitor sat three meters from me, wearing a loyal face.
And these old fucks wanted to push him up.
Internal rot, external pressure. Now I knew what it tasted like.
"This meeting's over." I stood and didn't look at a single one of them. "You all saw how I got the pakhan seat. I don't tolerate grit in my eyes. Next time you feel like running your mouths and reaching into my business, think twice about whether you can afford the consequences."